


Ties That Bind Us

by Excaliburinthelakeonpage394



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Prison, Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, BAMF Stiles, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2018-01-22
Packaged: 2019-03-07 16:26:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13438692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Excaliburinthelakeonpage394/pseuds/Excaliburinthelakeonpage394
Summary: Stiles shrugged one shoulder, his face going blank. “Well you know the government, they never do what they say they will. Theysaythey’ll protect you. Theysaythey’ll look after you. Then they throw you inthisstink hole, and say they're gonna kill you.” Stiles grinned a toothy, scary grin, “but I've got closer to death since this apocalypse broke out than I ever did on ‘Death Row’.”





	1. An Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this idea for a while, and then I was watching someone play Walking Dead Season 3 and this popped out... So, it's inspired by episode one/two of the walking dead.  
> It's barely an idea and I'm still carving it out, but I thought I'd post this little bit, between editing my other stuff.  
> Sorry if it totally doesn't make sense!
> 
> All mistakes are mine!

The scrapes and screaming weren’t new, but they gripped their guns a little tighter and turned the radio off.

 “Think it’s the hoard?” the curly haired, thin one asked quietly.

 “No,” the dark-haired one, with the wonky jaw said, “they’re not due through here for two more days.”

 “Boss wouldn’t put us down here alone if he expected a hoard,” the large, bulky man muttered.

 Then the doors bulged inward, a big crash rendering them quiet.

 “Fuck,” the dark-haired one muttered.

 “HELP! HELP US!!” screamed a female-sounding voice from outside the doors.

 “There’s people out there!” the curly-haired one whispered urgently. “We can’t just leave them!”

 He stepped towards the door, but the big, burly guy stuck an arm out.

 “We don’t know them! We can’t trust them.”

 The shortest man, with the off jaw, rolled his eyes. “Says  _ you _ .”

 “HELP! LET US IN!! PLEASE!! God, there are so many of them!”

 The boys all stepped forward, torn between letting the other survivors in and leaving the doors shut.

 There was more screaming, and another bang, and then the sound of a shotgun. And more shooting. And more.

 Then silence.

 “Do you think--” the scrawny boy started.

 “LET US IN YOU FUCKERS!” the voice screamed again, but less panicked.

 “Let us in, we mean no harm! We just need somewhere to spend the night and then we’ll be on our way!” an authoritative voice hollered. “We’re just looking for our families, we don’t mean any harm!”

 “We should let them in!” the curly-haired boy whispered.

 “Boss will have our balls for dinner,” the burly man snapped.

 “Blame it on me,” the dark-haired man grunted, moving to open the door. “Help me! It’s fucking heavy!”

 “Goddammit.”

 When the three of them got the door open, in burst a large group of people, all covered in blood and panting.

 “Oh, thank fuck!” one of them heaved, their hands on their knees.

 “If you throw up, you’ve got to clean it up,” the burly man snapped.

 “Okay, weapons on the floor!” the short man barked, pointing his rifle at each of them, once the door was shut.

 “Uh, if you don’t mind--” the tall, grey-haired man in a sheriff's uniform grunted, shotgun gripped firmly in his hands.

 “ _ Mom? _ ” the man interrupted, all but dropping his rifle.

 “Scott!” the curly-haired woman cried, running from her group. She had a few grey streaks in her hair and looked like she’d been to hell and back.

 “Mom!” Scott cried, hugging the woman tightly. “What the hell are you doing here!?”

 “Your  _ mom _ ?” the curly haired boy muttered, confused.

 Scott stepped back, “this is Isaac,” he said, pointing to the tall thin, curly-haired boy, “and Boyd,” he pointed to the big, burly man. “This is Melissa, my mom,” Scott grinned, to his friends.

 “Hi,” Isaac smiled, waving slightly.

 Boyd elbowed him, shooting him a glare.

 “What?” Isaac shrugged, “if she brought up Scotty she can’t be too bad, right?”

 Boyd made an ‘I guess’ sort of noise in his throat.

 “This is Sheriff Stilinski,” Melissa said to Scott, pointing at the grey-haired man in the sheriff’s uniform.

 Scott’s eyes grew wide. “Woah! I barely recognised you, Sheriff!” But he laughed and hugged the man.

 The other two didn’t look so glad to see a cop.

 “Scott,” Boyd grunted, “Boss is gonna want to talk to them.”

 Scott’s smile fell. “Shit. I am so dead…”

 “You said it,” Boyd muttered, rolling his eyes. “If I get stuck patrolling the perimeter again I’ll kill you,” he grunted.

 “Follow me,” Scott muttered, motioning for the whole group to follow, scratching the back of his neck.


	2. The Boss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Allison stepped forward, “I’m looking for my father,” she declared, shoulder straight. She had an air of confidence about her. “Argent, Chris Argent.”  
> He smiled at Allison, “I’ll take you to Argent.”

“Scotty--” a lean, blond man started, when he saw Scott emerge from the shadows. “Who the hell are these guys!?” he hissed, pushing Scott’s chest.

 “Look, Boss is  _ going _ to want to talk to them, Jacks,” Scott hissed. “This is my mom,” he said as an explanation.

 Jackson’s eyes turned dark as his eyes fell on Melissa. He jerked his chin down the hallway behind him. “Boss is in the cafeteria, with Der. I’ll go keep watch.” He gave Scott a look, as if to say ‘you should have thought about that’, “Boyd, come with me.”

 “Pleasure,” Boyd grunted, “don’t wanna watch Boss lose his shit again.”

 Scott looked sheepish again as he turned back to the group. “So that’s Jackson. He’s not friendly, but he’s not so bad.”

 “He’s an ass,” Isaac muttered, with a laugh. “Hurry up, I want dinner,” he added, walking ahead.

 “How many of you are there?” the Sheriff asked, taking in the large, long hallways.

 Scott opened his mouth, then shut it. “Uh, let’s wait until you see the Boss…”

 

“Isaac!” a thin, but intimidating man called, from where he was sprawled in a chair, a plate on his lap. “What are you doing away from your post-- What. The fuck. Do we have here,” he barked, leaping out of his chair.

 “Hey, boss,” Scott muttered, “these are survivors--”

 “I can see that! Did you at least disarm them?” the boss snapped, storming towards Scott and the group.

 “Uh…”

 “You’re too goddamn trusting,” the man snapped, stopping suddenly. “Melissa?” he asked quietly, eyes wide.

 “Hey…” Melissa muttered, waving a little.

 The boss stepped forward, holding his arms out, and Melissa stepped into them, hugging him tightly. “It’s good to see you.”

 Isaac blinked, shocked.

 “This is Stiles, the boss,” Scott explained to the rest of the group.

 Stiles glared at Scott over his mom’s shoulder. Then he took in the rest of the group. “Sheriff,” he grunted, looking immediately less happy, “see you’re still ticking.”

 “You too,” the Sheriff grunted back, but he had none of the venom Stiles had.

 Stiles shrugged one shoulder, his face going blank. “Well you know the government, they never do what they say they will. They  _ say _ they’ll protect you. They  _ say _ they’ll look after you. Then they throw you in _this_ stink hole, and say they’re gonna kill you.” Stiles grinned a toothy, scary grin, “but I’ve gotten closer to death since this apocalypse broke out than I ever did on ‘Death Row’.”

 Scott rolled his eyes, turning to the rest of the group. “He’s not actually that scary, he’s just pissed,” trying to be reassuring.

 “Shut up, Scotty,” Stiles muttered, stepping forward. “Introduce me to your group then,” he managed to smile, turning to Melissa.

 “This is Parrish,” she introduced, pointing to the other man in the group, “he was a deputy.”

 Stiles hummed. “And these pretty ladies?” he asked, smiling sweetly as he turned to the four girls.

 “Erica,” Melissa said, pointing to the tall blonde woman, who was glaring and tightly gripping her pistol. “Lydia,” she introduced, pointing to the red-haired woman who still had heels on, and a pistol in a thigh holster she seemed to have forgotten about. “Laura,” she motioned to the tall, dark-haired woman that looked overly bored with this whole thing, a sniper on her back, and two pistols under her arms. “And Allison,” Melissa finished, motioning to the pale, dark-haired woman who had a crossbow on her back, and a rifle slung over her shoulder, she had a thigh holster full of throwing knives, and a backup pistol in her boot.

 Allison stepped forward, “I’m looking for my father,” she declared, shoulder straight. She had an air of confidence about her.

 Stiles chuckled, “I like you, Alli. So, who’s your father?”

 “Argent,” she said automatically, “Chris Argent.”

 Behind Stiles, a crash sounded, as if someone had dropped a glass.

 Stiles rolled his eyes. “Don’t mind him. Isaac, go check that oaf hasn’t cut his wrist open or something, I don’t want to be clearing that up.” He smiled at Allison, “I’ll take you to Argent.”


	3. Argent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He waved his right hand, his sleeve falling down to show he was missing a hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn't yet fully carved, and I'm not 100% happy with it, but I will come back and re-write it, but for now, it's got all the information it needs, and I'm going to leave it until I have time to fully flesh it out.  
> (Also, I apologize for the sudden character changes, but it's for good reason, and I'll explain it more later.  
> Also: Allison says 'mum' instead of 'mom' because in this her family is from France, but moved to England instead of America, and how Chris winded up in an American Asylum is part of a bigger story for later...)
> 
> ((I'm English, so it's REALLY weird to have to write 'mom' instead of 'mum'...))

Stiles lead them to the north corner of the cafeteria, through a big door, and down a long corridor.

 “So, you’re Argent’s daughter?”

 “Yeah…” Allison answered slowly, eyeing Stiles.

 “Your old man is a badass,” he declared, “he’s been here longer than any of us!”

 “Honestly… I’m surprised he’s still alive,” Allison sighed, “thought I was all alone in this world…”

 “ _ Argent _ ?” Stiles laughed, “nothing can kill that old todger!” But his laughter died when he saw Allison’s face, “hey, I know what it’s like to be all alone. And I promise you’re not.”

 Everyone pretended not to notice the way the Sheriff faltered, looking extremely guilty.

 “You’re not from around here." It wasn’t a question.

 “No. My mum and I were visiting dad when the world went to shit… We were driving back and...she was tired. So we stopped for the night, at a hotel in Beacon Hills. She got bit in the morning… That’s how I learnt; don’t get bit.”

  “I understand," Stiles said, but Allison made that 'no you don't' face, despite everyone having a story of how they learnt the bite killed...  Stiles sighed, " _this_ is how we learnt you can cut off a limb to avoid infection,” he waved his right hand, his sleeve falling down to show he was missing a hand. “Lost my sight a few years back,” he explained, waving the arm at his right eye, which was a dull milky colour, a thick scar running from his eyebrow to his cheekbone, through the eye. “Those little mothers- started nibbling on my hand, I didn’t even feel them until it was too late.”

 “How did you _not_ feel that?” Melissa asked slowly.

 Stiles glanced over his shoulder. “Nerve damage,” he muttered, “prison doctors aren’t exactly reliable. Fuckers gave me the wrong medication for years. Didn’t matter how sick it made me, or how many times I told them it was the wrong medication. The medication they gave me was _free_ ; the medication I needed was expensive. It was simple maths to them.” Stiles shrugged one shoulder as if he were talking about the weather.

 

* * *

 

 

“Chrisy _baby_?” Stiles sang as they rounded a corner, into a cell block flooded with light.

 “The fuck do you want now, Stiles?” a voice barked from the second floor. “I’m not in the mood,” the voice barked again, with a tone of finality.  


 Stiles just laughed. “Funny you should say that… I got someone here who’s been waiting to see you for a long time.”

 “Fuck are you on about,” the voice mumbled, “did you have a night in the infirmary with Der again?”

 “Get your butt down here, before I kick it down here,” Stiles shouted, sounding suddenly bored and angry at once. He wandered over to the control room, at the end of the cell block.

 “I’m up, I’m up,” Chris muttered, stumbling out of one of the cells.

 “Dad!” Allison cried, running towards the stairs.

 “Allison?” Chris muttered, blinking, like he didn’t believe his eyes.

 “Dad!”

 Chris limped forward, as fast as he could, as Allison ran towards him.

 Allison jumped on her dad, wrapping her arms around his neck.

 “Ooph! Careful, sweetie! I’m an old man now,” but he was hugging her back just as tightly.

 Allison was sobbing into his shoulder, “mum- mum- she- I was- And you- god-!”

 “I know, sweetie, I know,” Chris muttered, not letting her go.

 “--Check Jacks and Boyd are okay and lock up the second doors; the hoard will be here soon, we gotta prepare,” Stiles was saying, a radio up to his mouth, “cheers doc. We’ll be up soon with the new guys, in a sec.”

 “*Okay Stiles, see you in a minute,*” replied a voice, badly distorted by the radio.

 “Come on then Chris,” Stiles muttered, waving him down, “was about time for your appointment anyway.”

 “Follow me guys,” Scott said cheerily, heading back down the hallway.

 None of them moved.

 “Hey,” Stiles said softly, “I promise it’s nothing funny. Just got to check none of you are bit and let the doc fix you guys up,” he motioned to Laura.

 Laura's shoulder was covered in blood, her shirt torn open, Blood drops fell slowly to the floor every now and then from her fingers. Laura glanced at her shoulder with a confused face, like she hadn't even noticed she was hurt.

 “Promise you can trust the doc, he’s a good dude." Stiles didn’t seem to care if they agreed or not, and turned back to the control room, reappearing with a wheelchair. “Help him down, will you Alli?” he asked, wheeling the chair to the bottom of the stairs.

 The group slowly shuffled out behind Scott.

 Allison helped Chris limp down the stairs. It was hard work, because Chris wouldn’t take his eyes off his daughter.

 “You’re so beautiful, and strong…” he muttered, awed. “Your mum would be proud.”

 Allison smiled, but looked sad at the same time.

 “Yeah, yeah, your daughter is gorgeous and Peter is staying in solitary a while longer,” Stiles muttered, rolling his eyes, “can we hurry this up? I got places to be, zombies to kill. You know, the usual.”

 “Where exactly have  _ you _ got to be?” Chris asked, chuckling, “we’ve been stuck in this shithole for years - there isn’t exactly any new scenery.”

 “True,” Stiles grinned, shrugging.

 


End file.
